Supernatural: Endgame
by bananaswtf
Summary: My own version of Season 10 of Supernatural, picks up basically in the same place as the actual Season 10, a few months after Dean disappears. 3-12-15 I'm not going to be posting new chapters until April 1st. I have finals right now, and school takes priority and it's kind of kicking my butt right now.
1. Chapter 1

**Supernatural: Season 10**

Chapter 1

Sam opened his eyes, blinking in the soft light of the lamp next to his bed. He stared at the ceiling, willing the throbbing pain in his temples to, if not disappear completely, lessen slightly so he could at least move without his insides threatening to become his outsides. A glance to his left, at the mostly empty bottle of whiskey on the bedside table, and he thought to himself "Touché".

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he yawned, returning his thoughts to his Problem Du Jour: Dean. Or rather, the _lack_ of Dean. He'd been searching for weeks, hounding every last contact he had in an attempt to track down his wayward older brother. He'd scoured the internet for any possible pre-existing case of Dead-Brother-Apparently-Gets-Up-And-Walks-Off and had come up empty handed, unless you counted the half a dozen dipped-in-crazy conspiracy sites he had come across. Sam didn't.

He crawled his way out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen, intent on caffeine before he began anew this morning. As he waited for the drips to stop, he thought about calling Cas. Not that he had been an ocean of help as of late. The slowly fading Grace he had stolen was, well, slowly fading. Castiel's own problems were the angel's top priority but Sam knew, if push came to shove, Cas would drop everything if he simply asked.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through the contacts until "Cas" was illuminated. His thumb caressed the "call" button, and he was just about to press it when the coffee machine stuttered to a stop. He sighed, shoving his phone into his pocket, and headed into the library with his coffee.

Two hours later, Sam was buzzing from a third cup of coffee on an empty stomach, and up to his elbows in getting absolutely nowhere. He was contemplating hunting down yet another demon to interrogate when his phone lit up. He grabbed it, saw the name "Crowley", and entertained the idea of tossing the cell into the nearest toilet and flushing it with glee.

"I'm probably going to regret this," he murmured, "but what the hell. Hello?"

"Moose. Just the man I was…."

"Clearly, dumbass, you CALLED me, you GOT me. What do you want? I have a severe lack of time for your shit right now."

"Touchy, touchy. And from what I hear these days, the only thing you're lacking is one smug, pretentious, overbearing, whiny piss-ant of a brother."

"Crowley," Sam growled. "Get. To. The. Point."

A sigh crackled over the line.

"I'm hanging up now, Crowley."

"Alright, alright…It's about your brother."

"Why am I not surprised? Crowley if you've done something to him I swear to God I'll…"

"Oh don't get your knickers in a twist. _I _haven't _done_ anything to him. But he's…"

Sam took a deep breath, closed his eyes and counted to three.

"Crowley if you don't get to the fucking POINT…"

"I've got him."

There was a beat of silence.

"What do you mean you've 'got him'?"

Another beat.

"I mean, he's here, and he's driving me crazy. I can't take it anymore, just…come get him for fucks sake."

"You've….got him," Sam repeated.

"YES, he's here, he's on my LAST nerve, and if you could just…"

"For how long?" Sam spat out. "When did you find him? WHERE did you find him?"

"Well…I mean, time is a relative thing," Crowley began.

Sam shook his head, rapidly losing what little patience he'd had with this conversation to begin with, when a thought wormed its way into his brain. His eyes widened, and he cut off Crowley's rant about the passage of time mid-sentence.

"You've had him this entire time. He's been there, with you, since this whole fiasco started."

Silence.

"HASN'T HE?" Sam shouted.

Crowley sighed again. "It's _complicated, _Moose."

"When I contacted you three months ago, you told me you hadn't seen him. You hadn't heard a peep about Dean Winchester. I believe those were your exact words there? 'Not a peep'? And now you're telling me that entire time he was WITH you? You knew EXACTLY where he was, and you straight out lied to my face?"

Crowley laughed with a snort. "Yeah, hello, KING OF HELL, have we met?"

Sam was seething, but curiosity started to bubble up over the anger. Why would Crowley, the aforementioned "King of Hell", need Sam to come and remove Dean from his presence? Why not just release him, send him on his merry way back to the bunker? If he was getting on his nerves so damned bad, why not just…

"So do we have a deal or not?"

Was it just Sam, or did Crowley actually sound desperate?

"A deal?" Sam asked. "If I come get Dean, what are YOU getting in return?"

"You get your dear older brother, and I get my nice quiet life filled with days of blood and torture all to myself. We part happy and go our separate ways. No harm, no foul, no questions asked."

"Yeah, and why do I feel like there's a rather important part of this whole situation I'm not being let in on?"

"I don't know what you could possibly be talking about," Crowley scoffed.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe I'm a bit confused on the part where Dean is just willingly hanging out with demons? And apparently doesn't want to come home? So much so that the _King of Hell_ has to call me to come GET him and physically drag him away?"

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated. Do you want your brother or not? I've got other ways to…dispose of him, but I figured…"

"You figured this way, I'd owe you a favor?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"Deal. Or. Not. I've got things to do that _don't_ involve Winchesters, you know."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I knew I was gonna regret this," he mumbled. "Where are you?"

Crowley spouted off an address, and Sam jotted it down on the nearest scrap of paper.

"Oh, and Moose?"

"What now?" Sam closed his eyes again, imaging just how much he was going to strangle the bastard when he finally had his brother back.

"You still hanging on to those demon trap shackles I'm so…familiar…with?" Crowley purred.

"Yeah, they're around."

"You may want to bring those darlings with you," he replied, and promptly hung up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Supernatural: Season 10**

Chapter 2

The dive was dark, empty save for a haggard old man at the end of the bar, drunk beyond a level socially acceptable at 1 in the afternoon. There was a jukebox against the far wall which, judging by the thickness of the dust across the glass dome, hadn't spun a tune in at least a decade. The pool table sat unused in the center of the room, the cues racked, hanging on the wall next to a window which appeared to be held together with duct tape and a prayer.

Not that Dean minded the silence. These days he often preferred the peace and quiet, at least in his time alone. His box of cassettes was stashed under the seat of the Impala, in direct competition with the local jukebox for Dust Capitol of the Midwest. No, the quiet was good, the quiet kept him grounded, kept him from…He huffed a half-hearted laugh to himself and shook off the self-therapy he so loathed.

Dean slouched further into the shadows of his booth, leisurely swirling a glass of bourbon, shooting surreptitious side-eyed glances at the door. He was paranoid. For the past three months, life with his new BFF had been great. The drinking, the gambling, the women, hell even the things he couldn't remember, all Grade-A, top notch. Except for the last two weeks, during which Crowley had grown increasingly annoyed every time Dean pitched an adventure his way. He was too busy, had far too many things to do, "a whole bloody kingdom to run".

"Lighten up, you afraid that hell's just gonna…go all to hell?" Dean had laughed.

Crowley had slammed his fist on the table, his face reddening.

"I can't have demons running amok, doing as they please!" he shouted. "There has to be ORDER!"

"Yeah, okay, why don't you just give some orders then, and we can…"

Crowley had sighed, drumming his fingers absently.

"I believe it's time we cut the apron strings. Mummy's done with playtime, Dean, there's work to be done, and if I don't do it, well…someone else will swoop in with their grubby little demon claws and take it. Find someone else to entertain you, there's no shortage of enterprising people at my disposal, surely one of them…" He stopped as he caught the clench in Dean's jaw. A smirk of understanding crept across his face, his eyes dancing with sadistic delight.

"Oh but that's just it, isn't it?" He laughed. "No one wants to play ball with a Winchester? Poor little hunter, all alone in a brave new world."

"Ex-hunter," Dean growled, not meeting Crowley's eyes.

"Sore subject?"

"Look Crowley, you're the one who dragged me into this shitshow, why should I…"

"Me? ME? Look who went and got all cosmically _inked up_ and then couldn't take it!"

Dean stared at him in disbelief. "Don't lay that on me. You knew where this path lead, you knew what was going to happen, and you chose to leave me out of that particular loop. It's hardly my fault. I just…I need…"

"To destroy?" Crowley asked quietly, no longer mocking.

Dean stared at the ground.

"I get it, I do. It's the mark. It's what it _does_."

"Then why aren't we out there fucking shit up?" Dean demanded. "God, Crowley, you play at being the 'big bad', but when it all boils down, you're nothing. A god damned sheep in wolf's clothing. Chaos is what this is all about, and you preach about needing _order_? 'Playtime is over'? Maybe playtime is _due._ Maybe all your minions running amok is exactly what Hell _needs_."

Crowley gaped at him.

"Hell, maybe…maybe that 'regime change' wasn't too far off from what Hell needs."

Crowley's head had dropped to the table at that, and he'd mumbled something Dean couldn't quite make out.

"'M sorry, what was that? I'm not all that fluent in Bitch," he'd snarked.

"I said…Don't. Make me. Call. Your brother. You insufferable PRAT!"

That was three days ago, and since yesterday morning, Crowley was being an even bigger pain in the ass than usual, in that he wasn't being a pain in the ass at _all_. No, he was downright invisible. Which could only mean one thing.

Dean glanced up as the door creaked open, and took a long swallow from his glass as that one thing ambled in the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Supernatural: Season 10**

Chapter 3

An epic showdown it was not. Sam hung near the door, guardedly watching as Dean lowered his head, staring at him. It was like coming across a deer in the forest: no sudden movements or he'd frighten it away. He casually glanced at the ground near his feet, shuffling a bit. Even with the slight motion he could see Dean tense further, sliding just the tiniest bit closer to the edge of the booth. Sam gave his brother a quick once-over. He had arrived in Jamestown, North Dakota expecting to find the same Dean he had grown used to over the last few years: guilt-ridden, exhausted, worn down. The Dean he was currently looking at didn't really seem to fit that description. He looked…well, happy wasn't exactly the right word, but he sure as hell didn't look like he'd lost any sleep over his life decisions recently.

Sam took a deep breath, and quietly said, "I've been looking everywhere." It didn't escape Dean that his voice cracked a touch at the end. "_Everywhere_, Dean."

Dean picked up his glass, tipped it towards Sam in a mock salute. "Well congratulations," he offered. "You found me."

Sam watched as he downed the rest of his drink, thinking "well at least THAT hasn't changed." He chewed his lip, trying to decide if a conversation was going to be the best way to get this done, or if a more…physical approach was going to be necessary. He was still contemplating his options when Dean spoke again.

"Why…_exactly_…are you here, Sammy?" He slowly uncurled out of the booth, his eyes narrowing, and meandered to the shelf where the pool cues were slotted into their frames. He selected one, inspecting it as he continued. "You stopping in just to say 'hello'? Have a little family reunion? 'Cause, I gotta say little brother, I'm not exactly up for _bonding_ right now."

As he spoke, he slowly wandered towards Sam and the door, still examining the cue in his hands. He slinked along next to the bar stools with an odd sort of grace that Sam found more than a bit disconcerting.

"Dean, look…why don't you just come home, you can take a day or two, get sorted, and then maybe we can talk about this."

Dean smirked slightly, now almost even to where Sam stood. "Talk abooooout...what?"

Sam took another breath before he spoke, trying to remain calm as Dean disappeared behind him. "You _know_ 'about what', Dean. Maybe about how you _died_? And then just, oh, _I don't know, _magically disappeared?"

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, Sammy…you know what? Yeah. Yeah, let's _talk_."

With a quickness Sam would have found impressive in another situation, Dean wound up with the pool cue and shattered it against the back of Sam's knees. His legs buckled, and he hit the floor hard with a sharp grunt of pain. He grit his teeth, pushing his hands under him, and tried to get up. His legs were on fire, and they were seriously protesting motion at the moment.

Dean watched his brother, tossing aside the remains of the stick in his hands, and set his jaw.

"How's this, Sam? How's THIS for a chat?" he snarled, grabbing Sam by the back of his neck. "Are you getting the answers you were looking for?"

Sam looked up at him, his face screwed up in agony, "Dean…"

Dean smiled, a small, cold upturn of the corners of his mouth, blinked his eyes into inky demon black, and smashed Sam's face into the floor.

Sam woke up with a groan. His legs had gone a weird sort of numb, and he could taste blood. He was pretty sure his nose was broken, if his inability to breathe through it were any indication. He tried to move, but there was something heavy against his back, keeping him pinned. He shifted slightly, and something jabbed him in the back of the head.

"Dean…" he mumbled. "Are you…are you fucking _sitting_ on me?"

"Uh, yeah?" came the chuckled response. "I'm still _me_, dude."

Sam scoffed at that, distinctly remembering a demon showing its ugly face (well, eyes) to him just before introducing his nose to his brain.

"Yeah, right. Just tell me who you are, and what the hell you want with my brother."

Dean sighed, nodding to the old man who was still quietly perched at the end of the bar. "Hey Stu, you wanna toss me the, uh, good stuff?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

Sam looked on in confusion as Stu reached over the bar, grabbed a blue jug with a crudely drawn skull and crossbones on it, and carefully poured a small glass. He shuffled closer to hand it to Dean, who raised it like a toast, and drank it down.

"What's that supposed to prove?" Sam asked. "That you were thirsty? _Who are you_?"

Dean rolled his eyes, reaching down and slipping his hand inside Sam's jacket, searching for the flask he knew he'd find. He pulled it out and, raising his eyebrows pointedly in Sam's direction, unscrewed the cap and took a swig.

Sam stared in confusion. He was certain he'd seen Dean's eyes go black, and he knew damn well that the water in that flask was blessed to High Heaven. So how…

"'M not possessed by a demon, Sammy," Dean stated softly, almost a whisper. "I _am_ one."

The fact that his brain was struggling to process that information showed plainly on Sam's broken face. Disbelief, confusion, and finally horror floated across his features as he lay completely still under the weight of (and he was only partially certain this was true) his brother. This was a factor he hadn't considered, even in his worst nightmares of what could have happened to Dean. Sure, possession had crossed his mind, shifters even. But actually _becoming_ a demon? No, this was something Sam hadn't even been sure was possible.

Dean recapped the flask and set it on the floor next to them, standing as he did so, relieving the pressure from Sam's back. As the younger shifted to lift himself from the floor, he was surprised to see a hand extended to him. He glanced up at Dean, whose hand was held out, no readable expression on his face. The shock of the gesture must be reading on his own, though, because Dean huffed a breath with a small laugh.

"Dean. Really?"

"Don't want my help, fine then," Dean shrugged.

Sam furrowed his brow as he took his brothers hand. "Your help? You just beat the crap out of me!"

"You've been kind of a whiny bitch lately, I just figured it was due."

Dean let go of him, and watched as he gingerly tested whether or not his aching legs would hold his body. Sam bent over at the waist, hanging his head down and resting his hands on his thighs.

"Well…I guess you could consider us even, because I'm pretty sure you're about to become the whiny bitch," Sam declared, shooting his hand out and snapping one of the demon trap shackles around Dean's wrist.


	4. Chapter 4

**Supernatural: Season 10**

Chapter 4

Half an hour into the nine hour drive back to the bunker, Sam was rethinking his decision to not stow Dean in the trunk of the Impala. When he wasn't bitching about his "Dean-napping", he was shoving his knees and feet into Sam's spine via the back of the front seat. Which was really quite a feat, since Sam had shackled Dean directly to the handle of the rear passenger-side door.

_Shoulda gone with the OUTSIDE handle_, he thought to himself as he shifted uncomfortably against the foot that was currently lodged into his back.

Not that getting him into the backseat had been any easier than shoving him in the trunk would have been. It had taken Sam the better part of 40 minutes to cram his brother through the door, while Crowley stood by, idly watching with his hands in his pockets. Even with both hands secured, Dean had managed to put up quite the fight, spreading himself across the entire opening, all the while shouting and cursing at Crowley about what a upstanding person he wasn't. Sam had used every ounce of energy he had (with two currently enraged knees) in an attempt to push the older Winchester far enough to at least get the door shut (and if that door happened to shut on said older Winchester's foot or leg or arm in the process? Well that would just be a karmically happy accident).

Three hours later, well after night had fallen (and about twenty minutes after Dean had finally calmed down and stopped his grumbling), Sam spotted a car wash. It was sketchy, at best, and in the middle of nowhere; one of those do-it-yourself numbers, which made it perfect. Sam didn't announce the stop, just slowed down and pulled in. He drove around to the back and stopped next to a vacuum behind the building. Dean looked around, a bemused expression on his face.

"A little secluded for a first date, Sammy, don't ya think?"

"Ok, first of all? What the hell kind of dates have you been going on? And second, I just want to clean up this mess a bit," he said, gesturing at the interior of the car. "Honestly, Dean. I can't believe this is _your_ Baby. I mean, there's so much dust on the dash I can hardly see _car_."

Dean stared glumly out his window, fidgeting, as Sam unfolded his legs from the car. "My car…can leave it a mess if I so fuckin' choose to…asshat," he mumbled.

Sam showed no sign that he had heard him, and set to work cleaning the front area of the Impala. The back could just stay filthy, at least until they had reached the bunker and Dean was safely tucked away. Be that in his bedroom or the dungeon, Sam wasn't quite sure yet. He had a feeling that, for the time being at least, it was going to be the latter.

Dean slid his legs back over to his side of the car, pulling himself upright for the first time in hours. He groaned inwardly at the way his muscles protested after being in one position for too long, and tried to flex his legs to find a more comfortable spot. His foot knocked into something, stopping it from stretching out as far as he wanted. He looked down at the floor and saw the corner of a box sticking out from under the front seat. Without pulling it out, he knew what was inside: his cassettes. Part of him from before that his current self wanted nothing to do with. He closed his eyes, damping down the grief that occasionally threatened to overtake him when he thought too hard about what he had become. He didn't _want_ to be a demon, he certainly had never asked for it. He didn't want to feel this insatiable need to harm, to ruin, bring controlled chaos to the lives of the people he met. But that was the hand he had been dealt, and damn if it wasn't a difficult thing to deny.

He pulled himself from his reverie, watching as Sam threw out the last bit of trash from the floor of the front of the car and pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket to answer it. Dean pressed his head closer to the window, hoping to at least catch some of what was being said, and maybe some of Sam's plan.

"If he's even got one," he murmured to himself, then quieted to listen.

"Hey Cas….Yeah, I found him, I'm bringing him to the bunker….Ummm….No, no I think he's alright...I mean, he's definitely not _dead_, but he's not….I think you just need to see it to believe it….Yeah, another few hours…..Alright, see you then."

"Like I thought. No plan," Dean rolled his eyes, closed them, and leaned his head back to rest it against the seat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Supernatural: Season 10**

Chapter 5

Cas looked worried. He chewed on his bottom lip, brow furrowed, as he stood just outside the storage room door that led to the bunker's dungeon. The sounds of two brothers with very different ideas about how this situation was going to go drifted out to him. He had been slightly amused, and a bit confused, if he was being honest, when he had arrived at the bunker to find Sam and Dean in what appeared to be an all-out brawl. He had simply stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching the two them scuffling about on the floor, a half-smile flitting across his face at the sight of them finally back together. That is, until he had seen the state of _Sam's_ face. So he had joined in the fray, and between the two of them, they had managed to subdue Dean enough to drag him (quite literally, as he went completely limp in an attempt to hinder their progress) into the dungeon.

They had left him there, secured to a chair with the demon trap engraved shackles, inside a demon trap carved into the floor, with hastily drawn sigils covering the walls. With Dean actually _being_ a demon, they weren't taking any chances. In the kitchen, Cas had healed Sam's broken nose (if only to the point where it was no longer completely fractured and painful, so as to save as much of what little grace he had left), while Sam recounted the story from the beginning, starting with the phone call from Crowley.

"It sounds like Crowley was rather desperate to be rid of him," Cas stated matter-of-factly. "But why not just kill him?"

"That thought had occurred to me," Sam answered thoughtfully. "The only thing I could come up with was that he either _can't_, which is a pretty scary thought, or he _won't_ because he needs something from us and he knows that I won't help him if he hurts Dean. Either way, I don't like it."

"Understandable. But I feel that our first course of action should be to remove the Mark. It is entirely possible that doing so will bring Dean back to his humanity."

"Yeah, but is that even possible?"

"There may be a spell somewhere, I'd have to search for it. It could take some time, and you'd have to deal with your brother in his current state for the duration. I'm not sure how long it…" Cas trailed off, his head cocking to the side slightly as his eyes narrowed. "Do you hear that?"

Sam heard nothing. "Uh…no?"

Cas listened a beat longer, then rolled his eyes and started walking back towards the hallway that led to the storage room. Sam followed, and as they grew closer he began to hear the shouts from the dungeon.

"WHO DO I HAVE TO STAB TO GET A BURGER? HELLOOOOOOO? MAYBE SOME PIZZA, OR LIKE….SOME PIE?...YEAH, YEAH DEFINITELY SOME PIE!"

Sam and Cas exchanged a look as they walked into the room.

"Finally," Dean grumbled. "I've been shouting for like an _hour_."

"That's not true, Dean," Cas reasoned seriously. "You've only been in here for twenty minutes."

"Thanks, genius. I _know_ that. I was being dramatic. For….dramatic effect," Dean grinned. "Now food me, bitches."

Sam gave Dean a questioning look. "I didn't think demons needed to eat."

"Grown men don't need to have long flowing shiny hair, either, but that doesn't seem to be stopping _you_, now, does it?" Dean smirked.

Sam pursed his lips, and slid his eyes to the table next to the door. Dean followed his gaze, noted the duct tape, and laughed. "Aw, come on, man. One hair joke? That's really all it takes?"

Cas stood back, silently observing Dean as the brothers off-handedly sniped at each other. Apart from the fact that he was a demon, he was still so very _Dean_. The mannerisms, the snark, the desire for food that would only encourage heart disease, they were all so much the man he had come to know over the past 6 years. It hurt him in a way that he couldn't be entirely sure wasn't leftover from his time spent as a human; an ache in his chest, a sadness for his friend that he so longed to help, and the subsequent feeling of helplessness that he wasn't quite sure where to begin, or if that help was even possible. He knew that without his grace, without the full capacity to be _an angel_, he was never going to be able to pull off the things that would be required of him in order to bring Dean back to his old self. His guilt in regards to the things he had done in the past, things he had deemed absolutely necessary at the time, things that he knew had caused great pain for not just Dean, but Sam as well, was something that was beginning to haunt him on a fairly regular basis.

He could feel the grief over his shortcomings rising, and he raised a hand to his face in puzzlement as moisture trickled down his cheek. This was certainly new, although he was aware that sometimes humans, in response to their emotions, were known to elicit tears as a means of dealing with whatever they were going through. For Cas, it was simply another sign that his grace was disappearing.

He wiped his face more thoroughly, and pulled himself up taller. "Sam? A word please?"

Sam met him in the hallway, a small frown of concern creasing his brow. "Is everything ok?"

Cas stared at him, squinting slightly. "…Well, your brother is a demon and we've got no way to…"

"Cas," Sam laughed softly. "I thought we'd gotten beyond your literal take on things? But no, I just meant you look…well…depressed as shit."

The angel cleared his throat, "Yes, I suppose that to some extent I am a bit saddened by some recent revelations."

"If Dean heard that sentence, he'd probably double over with laughter and ask you to repeat it in English," Sam smiled.

Cas turned his eyes sadly to the door beyond which his best friend in the world was currently chained (and, for what it's worth, still grumbling about his lack of cheeseburger). "He would, this is true." He sighed. "Sam, I know that this is not something that you can look past, but I feel that it is going to be necessary if we are going to save your brother." Sam looked at him expectantly. He sighed again, and continued, "I'm going to have to find more grace."

Sam lowered his head, took a steadying breath, and answered "Whatever you have to do, Cas, I can live with."


	6. Chapter 6

**Supernatural: Endgame**

Chapter 6

It was an odd scene in the dungeon of the bunker.

Dean, shackled to his chair, eyebrows raised, lips pursed in contemplative amusement, eyes glancing around the room, and every so often back to Sam.

Sam, standing a few feet in front of the chair that Dean was currently shackled to, holding a tray with a plate of rapidly cooling food, face screwed up in contemplative unease, eyes locked on his brother's shackled hands.

Dean made a sucking sound with his teeth, breaking the silence. "You know, I'm pretty picky about who I let hand feed me. And, uh, no offense, Sammy? You ain't my type."

Sam huffed and turned around. Dean craned his neck as he watched his younger brother set the tray down on the table.

"Hey, come on now, you can't tease a guy like that!" Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Look, you just unchain me, I promise I won't cause any trouble."

Sam snorted.

"What?! Just unchain me. I'll still be in the demon trap, right? And this crazy shit Cas scribbled all over the walls is meant to keep me demonically sedated, right? What's the harm?" Dean broke out in his most winning grin.

_I hate it when he makes sense_, Sam thought, and pulled the chain with the key out from under his shirt.

"Don't make me regret this, Dean," he murmured as he unlocked the shackles.

Dean sighed happily as he rubbed his wrists, then nodded at the food on the table, waggling his eyebrows in Sam's direction.

Sam chuckled slightly, handing over the plate. He returned to the table and sprawled on the edge of it, picking at the sandwich he'd made for himself.

"S'so good dude," Dean proclaimed through a mostly chewed mouthful of burger. "I would sell my soul to actually be hungry for this shit, but damn…"

"Uh, Dean…"

Dean chuckled. "Poor choice of words, right?"

They finished their meal in silence (well, Dean finished his meal, Sam mostly stared at his). Sam was collecting their dishes to take to the kitchen when he sighed and turned away from his brother.

"Do you _want_ to be like this, Dean? I mean, what you are, what you've become, it's everything we've always…" He paused, trying to calm his anxiety over Dean's response. "Do you even want us to help you?"

Dean stared at the ground in front of his chained feet. "You givin' me the choice?"

"No."

"Then what's it matter?"

"It matters because you're my _brother_, and I'd sure as hell rather have you fighting next to me than _fighting me_. I've got the feeling that Crowley is up to something, and I'd feel a hell of a lot better knowing you were backing me up." Sam turned to face him. "Demon or not, you're still _Dean_, and I need to know that if I let you out of here? If I unchain you, let you out of that demon trap, you're not gonna bolt and fuck me over. And I'm having some serious trouble figuring out if I even wanna trust what you say when you answer me, you don't exactly have a great track record for telling me the truth, you know." He took a deep breath. "So just tell me, Dean. Straight facts. Do you want me to help you? And do you want to help me?"

Dean swallowed, and closed his eyes. He didn't know how to explain to Sam that it felt like a split personality mecca in his head. Part of him wanted nothing more than to be there with his brother, fighting the good fight. But part of him wanted to tear the world apart, set it on fire, and laugh while it burned. And that was the part of him that didn't quite understand why Crowley had been so keen to get rid of him. He knew the King of Hell had plans, big ones at that, and the demon Dean Winchester would be such a delightful addition to those plans.

And so, there was his dilemma: he could fight his way back to Crowley and join in the King's plans, or he could stay and fight with his brother to take down that King. He scrunched his eyes closed further, as if that would help him come up with an answer for Sam. When he opened them, Sam was still standing there, guardedly watching him.

"Yes."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, I'll help you. And first things first, there's some things you need to know."

Two hours later, the boys were sitting at a table in the bunker library. Sam's head was in his hands while Dean sat quietly, waiting for him to react.

"So…" Sam started. "You're saying there's a book of lore, located in some alternate dimension, that will give whoever has it control over the supernatural?"

"Basically. At least from the sounds of it. He called it the Lore Codex, said it's pretty much a leash for all monsters. You have that book, you have the beasts. He also said that as long as it remains open, those beasts are free to roam. Now I don't know about you, but I take that to mean…"

Sam's eyes widened. "If we close it…"

"Yup. Gone. Buh bye. Adios. Sayan…"

"Dean."

"Heh. Sorry."

"So this alternate dimension, how do we find it?"

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, about that. No one knows. There's some kind of spell, but no one can make any sense out of it."

"We need to get our hands on this spell. You think you can get back into Crowley's and steal it?"

Dean grinned.

"What?" Sam deadpanned.

"Dude, I already _have_ it." He pulled a sheet of paper out of his back pocket and waved it at Sam. "How awesome am I?"

Sam laughed. "Wait, so if you didn't know whether you were gonna help me or run back to Crowley, why'd you steal the spell?"

"See, I figured Crowley had called in the troops. You…you know you're the troops, right?" Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah ok, so, I knew what was going on, I figured, I take the spell, that way I could guarantee that even if I _didn't_ decide to help you, Crowley couldn't make any moves on the book without me. Like I said, how awesome am I?"

"I'll see your 'awesome' and I'll raise you a 'stupid'," Sam stated. Dean looked offended. "Don't you think he's gonna find it an awfully large coincidence that when I take you away, his spell goes missing?"

"I casually mentioned to at least four demons that I'd seen Stu rummaging around in Crowley's desk. Shouldn't be an issue."

Sam grabbed the spell out of Dean's hand, reading quickly. "Most of this stuff seems pretty straightforward, but…"

"'Blood of father's joy?' Yeah, that's what was throwing everyone. Although most of them seemed to think it just means the blood of a child."

Sam stared at him. "Gross. Let's just get the rest of this stuff and cross that bridge when we get to it." He stood up to go check the stocks in the storage room as his phone rang. "This should be Cas, I left him a voicemail telling him that you were…" He trailed off as he realized he didn't recognize the number, and answered the phone. "Hello?" Confusion swam over his face while he listened. "Ok….ok just calm down. We're coming to get you." He hung up and reached across the table for his jacket.

"What's wrong with Cas?" Dean questioned, grabbing the keys to the Impala out of Sam's hand.

"Wasn't Cas," Sam answered. Dean held his hands out, waiting for a better answer. "That was Claire Novak."


	7. Chapter 7

**Supernatural: Endgame**

Chapter 7

Sam had just finished locking the door to the motel room when the blonde girl heaved a tremendous sigh, and sat with a flump on the end of the dingy bed. He took a seat in a chair across from her and smiled encouragingly.

"Ok," he started. "What you said on the phone, about being followed, do you know who these people are?"

Claire's eyes shifted to the side as she chewed on her lower lip. "No, I've got no idea who they are. And I might have…sort of…embellished? A little?"

Sam scratched at his temple, dreading even asking what she meant by that. "Claire…"

"No, I mean," she sighed. "Let me start over. They're not _actually _following me. For weeks I've been having these dreams. Nightmares, really. This man keeps telling me I'm important, I'm important and he needs me. And then I explode. But not like normal, you know? It's like…like a really bright white light. Like…with Castiel."

Sam regarded her with curiosity, wondering if it was simply her subconscious remembering the ordeal of her childhood when her family was ripped apart, or if this was some new terror for the teenager. He figured he'd better find out.

"You're sure you don't know the man? Can you describe him?"

"Short. Curly hair," she thought for a moment, then scrunched up her face. "_Really_ bad teeth."

Sam didn't have to think very hard to land on who, exactly, that sounded like. He closed his eyes. "Metatron."

"Yeah!" Claire exclaimed. "Yeah, that's him!"

"Great," Sam said with an eye roll. "Anything else happen in these dreams of yours?"

"Umm…" she said, thinking. "Yeah. Actually, the last few times, after I go all Big Bang, these people start chasing me, and they've got these long silver blades. So I turn and I run. And that's when I wake up. But the thing is, the reason I called you. Two nights ago, I saw one of them."

"Did they see you?"

"No, at least I don't think they saw me. If they did, they didn't react at all. I came back here and called you. I haven't left the room since."

"Good," Sam said, rising from his chair. "Pack up your things, we're leaving in five."

While Claire threw what few belongings she had with her into a duffel, Sam ventured outside to the car to fill Dean in on the situation.

"So the chick has a few nightmares, now we gotta be babysitters?" he grumbled.

"Dean, you know as well as I do that this probably means Metatron is looking for a way to get to her," Sam countered.

"Meta-douche. I'm getting real tired of this guy. The hell's he want with a teenage girl anyway? I mean apart from the obvious," Dean smirked.

"Really dude? Gross. And I don't think it's his need for teenage girl as much as it is his need for Claire herself. Think about it, Dean. When an angel possesses a vessel they leave behind some of their grace. _Castiel possessed Claire_, and I'm betting that grace is what he's looking for. Although to do what? I've got no clue. I just want to get her back to the bunker where she's safe, then we can work out details."

Just then Claire came bounding out of the motel room, threw her bag at Sam, smiled smugly up at Sam and chirped "Shotgun." Sam gave a side-eyed glance at Dean, and folded himself into the backseat.

On the drive, Claire filled the guys in on what had been happening in the life of the Novak's since Castiel had taken over their patriarch. Apparently, her mother, Amelia, had gone full rebel: booze, pills, late nights out with God-knows-who. Claire had rarely seen her over the first 4 years, and midway through her sophomore year of high school she had disappeared for two whole weeks. When she finally showed up at 3 P.M. on the 16th day, disheveled and wreaking of vodka, Claire had packed a few belongings and taken off. She'd been on her own ever since, sleeping in whatever warm place she could come across. Whenever she ran out of money, she managed to pick up a job waiting tables or washing dishes for a couple of weeks, sleeping in the backroom, keeping her tips stuffed in the bottom of her duffel until she had enough to move on. It hadn't been a great existence, but she'd been fine with it. Until the nightmares started up.

Sam listened attentively, but his mind was working a mile a minute as he processed the teenager's story. He knew that eventually Cas was going to be a part of this, and that he was going to be around. What he didn't know was how Claire was going to react to that. Sure, Cas was a decent enough guy. He tried hard. Granted, he tried hard at some supremely wrong things, but he meant well. But he had taken the girl's father from her, and for all intents and purposes, had killed him. His body was still there, just fine as you please, but whatever was left of her father had long since moved on to…Sam wasn't quite sure. He cleared his throat.

"Claire, you know…we've got some things going on, things that we've been trying to take care of for a while now, and…" He paused. "I just didn't know how you'd feel about…Castiel."

She stilled in the front seat, staring out the passenger window at the wheat fields flying by.

Sam continued, "I mean, he's not there right _now_, but that doesn't mean he won't be soon. And I'm not sure for how long…"

Claire sighed, and turned to face him. "I can't say he'll be my new favorite playmate, Sam, but…I'll try to deal, ok? I mean, the man _did_ turn my life to crap, so…" She tipped her head for a moment. "That's not really right though, is it, calling him a man? So what then? Angel? Dickwad?"

Dean guffawed from the driver's seat, smacking his hand on the steering wheel. "That's Cas, man. Dickwad of the Lord."

Claire grinned at him, then sobered as she turned back to Sam. "I promise I will behave, as long as he keeps his distance, ok?"

_Good thing_, Sam thought, as he glanced down to see the text Cas had sent in response to his request to get his butt back to the bunker ASAP. It read "I shall be waiting" (and was accompanied by a selfie of Cas, grinning from ear to ear, in front of the library shelves). Sam felt bad for lying to the girl, but while listening to Claire's story about her nightmare, he had a stroke of genius. He knew how to get Castiel's grace back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Supernatural: Endgame**

Chapter 8

The sound was audible almost before Dean had opened the interior door to the bunker. A loud clamor of cymbals and horns reverberated through their bones and into their teeth as the trio stepped onto the landing, Sam and Claire clapping their hands to their ears in an effort to avoid the splitting of their ear drums. They made their way down the stairs to find Cas, seated perfectly still at one of the tables, hands folded placidly in front of him, eyes closed, an almost dreamy expression on his face.

"Cas!" Sam shouted as they drew closer. "Hey!"

The angel didn't budge.

"CAS!" He was outright screaming now, and still getting no response. He turned to Dean, eyebrows raised, half amused and half perplexed. He took a deep breath, and shouted the angel's name again. Unfortunately, at the same moment he shouted, Dean cut the power to the old record player that they had found in one of the bunkers many rooms.

"_CAS_!"

Castiel flew up out of the chair, arms flailing, his chair tipping backwards (Dean would forever swear that the sound which came out of him had only ever been heard from the mouths of tiny little girls).

Sam put a hand on his shoulder, laughing. "Whoa there. Just us."

"Yes. I see that now," Cas responded, glancing cautiously at Claire.

Dean chimed in, "Little loud there, don't ya think?"

"Really? I find it soothing. It helps me to think."

Sam laughed. "The 1812 Overture? At a volume that could probably be heard from the space station? _That_ helps you think?"

Cas shrugged, humming for a brief second. "What is it….to each their own?"

Sam shook his head and, after brief instructions for Dean, headed off with Claire to get her situated in a room, and to give her time to get over the fact that Cas was not "not there" as he had promised her.

"I know I said that he wouldn't be here, and I'm sorry," he said, opening a door to an empty bedroom. "It's just…this is important, Claire, and it needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later."

She peered inside, taking in the bland décor. "Look Sam, I get it…Just don't expect me to hold hands with him and skip through the halls. He may not be the person I most want to be around, but that doesn't mean that I can't manage to get along with him for a little while and dear _God_, can I get some posters or pictures of something in here?"

"Sure," Sam chuckled. "I'll see what I can find in storage. Or we can pick up a few things the next time we head out for supplies?"

"Sounds good," Claire smiled. "And Sam?"

He turned at the door, eyebrows raised.

"Thanks. You know, for coming to get me."

Sam smiled, and headed off to find Dean and Cas. He located the latter back at the same table in the library, again listening to the 1812 Overture, only this time on a much more manageable volume setting. As he pulled out a chair, Dean sauntered in from the kitchen, grumbling about a lack of bagels.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Add them to the list. Did you find the spell?" Dean nodded, sliding into a chair. "Ok, so get this. Cas, you remember last year? With Gadreel?"

Cas nodded, while Dean fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.

Sam snorted. "Relax, Dean. It's as 'water under the proverbial bridge' as it's gonna get. More importantly, Cas, do you remember what you told me about angel possession? How grace gets left behind?"

Cas tipped his head slightly, regarding Sam quizzically. Sam watched his face eagerly, waiting for a sign that the angel understood what he was trying to get at. Slowly, a dawn of understanding crept over Cas' face as he remembered. He had possessed Claire, if only for a few moments. He turned carefully, staring at the hallway that led to where Claire was putting her things away, then looked back at Sam sadly.

"Sam. While I appreciate the thought you have put into this, I don't…" Cas began. Sam started to interrupt him, but Cas cut him off with a hand on his arm. "I cannot ask her to go through what you went through when we attempted to remove the remains of Gadreel's grace from within you, Sam. Do you remember that? It was excruciating. I cannot put her through a thing like that, not after…" He trailed off, dejected.

"Yeah," Dean interjected. "But if we explain everything to her, how it'll put you back to rights, and then we can fix _me_…"

"Dean, the last thing she cares about is my welfare," Cas stated matter-of-factly. "Even with what little grace I have left, I can feel her resentment from here. Asking this will only make it worse. No. She's not an option for a remedy to this situation."

"Who's not an option for what situation?" Claire stood near the hallway, leaning against the doorway.

"Claire…" Sam started, moving to stand.

"I mean, I'm the only 'she' around here, so I'm just assuming he's referring to _me_, right?"

No one replied.

"_Right?"_ she insisted, glaring at Cas. Sam sat back down as Cas slowly stood and faced Claire.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"So…you say that I'm not an 'option' for something because it's just gonna make me more pissed at you? But you're gonna take away my choice of whether or not I want to be a part of this…whatever it is?"

Cas turned to Sam and Dean frantically, and with no idea how to handle a teenage girl who clearly wasn't going to be happy no matter _which_ scenario played out. They both just smiled at him. Turning back to Claire, he took a deep breath.

"I have no right to ask this."

"True," she scoffed, folding her arms.

"My grace was…taken from me. I managed to...procure some for the time being, but since it's not _mine_, it's fading, and that takes its toll. We may have found a way to get my grace back." He paused.

"And that's where I come in?" she glanced to Sam for confirmation, and he nodded. "How?"

Cas steeled himself, and looked at her calmly. "You have my grace. A part of it, at least."

Claire looked between the three men in shock, searching for some sign that maybe Cas had misspoken, or that she had heard him incorrectly. She stumbled forward, and Sam stood up to guide her into a chair.

"I don't understand," she whispered.

Sam quietly explained to her what had happened while she stared at the table. He told her why getting the grace back was so important, about Cas helping to cure Dean, and removing the Mark. When he was finished, she glanced up at him, suddenly curious.

"My dreams!"

Sam nodded. "Exactly. At least, that's what we think they're about. The man in your dreams, the one who tells you that you're important. We're pretty sure he's the man that took Cas' grace from him. And we're pretty sure that he's trying to find you because he knows that you've got a piece of that grace inside you. What we're not sure about is why."

"Well then get it _out_!" she exclaimed.

"Claire, it's not that easy," Sam stated. "It's a tedious process, and it's painful, not to mention dangerous."

She sighed, staring at the table. No one spoke. She glanced up at Dean, who was watching her without expression.

"I don't care," she said. "I'll do it."

"Claire," Cas started towards her.

"But just so we're clear," she said, glaring at him, "I'm not doing it for you."


	9. Chapter 9

**Supernatural: Endgame**

Chapter 9

Dean sat at the library table, flipping through a pile of lore books under the guise that he was searching for a way to rid himself of the Mark. He was, in fact, staring blankly at pages while attempting to keep the nagging piece of himself that wanted to tear the arms off of the next person to cross his path under control. Over the past few days he had tried a few different methods of dealing. Whiskey first, of course, which had been a supremely bad plan, followed by porn, which had been a _great_ plan with poor execution (Sam had mentioned the need for eyeball bleach, followed by a 5 minute lecture on door locks and how they work). Today, his plan of attack was research, but he found the harder he concentrated on stomping down the rage, the less he concentrated on what he was actually reading. He tossed the book to the side with a sigh, and headed down the hall to the infirmary.

The screaming had quieted about a half hour ago, but there had been no word from Cas or Sam on what state Claire had been left in by the removal of Cas' grace from her body. He knocked gently, opening the door slightly to peek inside. Cas and Sam were huddled off to the side of the room, quietly discussing something that, from the intense looks on their faces, was important. _Wouldn't wanna come find me, let me in on the all-important info, _he thought to himself. Claire was laying prone in the chair, unconscious or asleep, Dean couldn't tell from just a look. As he entered the room, Cas turned to him urgently.

"Dean, good, you're here."

"Yeah, no thanks to you," he scoffed in return.

Cas looked taken aback. "What? I don't understand. Why would you thank me?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just seems like you two have something important to discuss, and as no one felt the need to let me in on the secret…"

"_Dean_," Cas replied calmly. "I came to find you, and you were so engrossed in your reading that you didn't even acknowledge my presence. I assumed that what you were doing was more important. I am sorry if you feel I have slighted you in some way."

Slighted him, not so much. Made him feel like an ass? Yeah, maybe.

"Sorry, man," he said. "I'm not exactly Mr. Patience and Virtue lately."

Cas nodded solemnly, and Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

"So come on, out with it, what happened?" Dean asked, hopping up to sit on the counter.

Sam came back over from checking on Claire. "It went well, if you can call it that. It wasn't pretty, but she seems to be alright. Just really tired." He held up a small vial, glowing bright. "We got what we needed."

"We got everything for this Restitution spell then?"

Sam grimaced. "Not exactly. We need some part of the person who originally removed the grace."

Dean frowned, hopping off the counter. "So not it, dude."

"I'm actually headed to retrieve it right now," Cas supplied. "That was the, uh, important news."

Dean grunted his understanding, "Get gone, then. The sooner you get back, the sooner we can get this eye sore off my arm."

Cas nodded once, then disappeared down the hall, humming what sounded to Dean suspiciously like the 1812 Overture.

Dean headed back to his research, while Sam carried Claire down to her room, which seemed like it might be a lot more comfortable than the infirmary. After he had her situated, he headed to the library to help his brother. He sat down, grabbing the open book closest to him, and began to read. Fifteen seconds later, he set the book down with a quiet "Oh my God…"

Dean glanced up at him without raising his head.

"Dean, are you actually reading these? How did you not see this?"

Dean craned his neck to see what book Sam had been reading, then complained "Wait, is there a way to remove this damned thing in _that_ book? That's like the first book I went through!"

"No, not how to remove the Mark. But it's just as big."

Dean stared at him for a good three seconds before snarking, "You gonna give it up, there, hot shot?"

"I'm pretty sure I just found the location of the Lore Codex."

Dean huffed.

"What?" Sam asked, irritated.

"Well, I mean, technically _I_ found the location of the Lore Codex," Dean answered smugly.

Sam looked up at him, his eye practically twitching with annoyance. "Dean, you left a book open to a random page. The only thing you found was a way to get out of helping with Claire."

Dean mimicked him, then said "Actually, I was just trying to keep myself from shoving my fist through your neck, but why split hairs."

Sam closed his eyes and took a calming breath. "Let's not argue about this, ok? Either way, we might have a bead on this book. As soon as Cas gets back, and we get his grace back where it belongs, we'll run it by him and see if anything rings familiar. Until then…"

"We try to decode this spell so we can actually open the portal to get to the Codex," Dean sighed.

"Actually, I was gonna say we snag a couple of beers and see if there's a game on, but if you wanna research…" Sam spread his hands wide over the collection of books on the table.

"Dude. Yes," Dean said, and slapped the book in front of him shut.

"How'd you get close enough to get this?" Dean inquired, holding a Ziplock bag with a few strands of hair in it in front of his eyes, face scrunched up.

"I, uh. I just sort of reached through the bars, grabbed a handful, and yanked," Cas replied.

Dean nodded in approval.

"It seemed the best course of action," Cas continued. "I did not want to risk what happened to Hermione. No way."

Dean's eyes shot to Sam, who was grinning and trying not to laugh as he mixed spell ingredients in a small bowl. "I'm sorry, Hermione?"

"Yes, Dean. Hermione." Cas tore the bag out of Dean's hand, and gave it to Sam. "In Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, she accidentally uses a hair from a cat in a potion. I did not wish to turn into Metatron's cat." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Should he have a cat, I mean."

Dean threw up his hands, and turned to Sam, who was still fighting a laugh. "You almost done with that?"

Sam nodded, and motioned for Dean to stand back. He glanced at Cas as he lifted the vial of grace. "I'm not sure what's about to happen. You ready?"

Cas nodded gravely.

With one last glance to make sure Dean was at a hopefully safe distance, Sam unstopped the vial, and poured the grace into the bowl. The air was suddenly filled with the sound of static, loud and grating, as a sparkling light pervaded the room in a dazzling display. The frenzied sound grew louder and louder while the light danced around the room. Sam glanced at his brother, only to see his face contorted in pain, trying desperately to cover both his eyes and his ears. He wondered fleetingly why it seemed to be affecting Dean so much more, then turned his attention back to the giant ball of swirling grace hovering loudly, and growing exponentially, in front of him. Just as Sam was beginning to think that it was never going to stop, and that he had somehow managed to unwittingly start another apocalypse, everything went completely dark and silent. He was just opening his mouth to ask if everyone was alright when the loudest and brightest explosion he had ever experienced sent him flying against the wall and into unconsciousness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Supernatural: Endgame**

Chapter 10

Something was shaking him, of this Sam was certain. What he wasn't clear on was what that something was, only that it wasn't very strong, and was making a strange sort of muffled sound. He didn't want to open his eyes, fearing that the pain in his head would only be made worse by any sort of light, but the nauseous feeling in his middle was not being aided by the soft back and forth motion. Just as he was about to open his eyes, the shaking mercifully stopped. He started to release a small sigh of relief when the something from before began kicking him in the shin. Hard.

With a groan, he rolled away from the offending foot. He sat up on his knees, still not opening his eyes, and rubbed his hands over his face. The muffled sound was getting clearer, and he suddenly recognized it as Claire's voice. He turned his head gently, in an effort not to cause more dizzy throbbing, and carefully cracked his eyes open to…nothing. Well, not quite nothing. The tiny bit of light from the candle the girl was holding was barely enough to illuminate a small two foot circle.

"Oh thank God," Claire exclaimed. "I was starting to think maybe you were dead, too."

"Nope," Sam answered, his voice cracking slightly. "Just feel like I _want_ to be…Wait, what do you mean 'too'?"

He scrambled up, not waiting for an answer, snatching the candle out of Claire's hand.

"Dean!" He shouted, searching frantically, but in vain. "Damnit, we need more light. I'll go flip the breaker…"

"Sam, I don't think that'll help," Claire said. "I mean, the lights just kind of…exploded."

"Shit," he cut her off. He hadn't even thought about the possibility that putting Cas' grace back would result in that kind of power. "Find a flashlight, more candles, something. _Anything_."

"Here, Sam, he's here," Claire replied calmly, guiding Sam with a gentle hand on his elbow over to one of the tables. She set the candle on the floor, off to the side, and stood back.

"Dean!" he yelled, crouching down on a knee. Sam placed his hand on his brother's back, feeling the quick ragged breaths that were shuddering through him. He shook him gently, not sure if he was experiencing the same sort of disorientation that he himself had gone through upon waking, though there was no response. Sam hesitated a moment before rolling Dean onto his back, and immediately recoiled.

Blood was running from Dean's eyes, and had pooled underneath him on the floor. It bubbled in the corners of his mouth as his breaths rattled out of him. Sam put his hands on either side of his brother's face, feeling warm wetness against his palms, and realized that blood was coming from Dean's ears as well.

"Shit, shit, shit," he breathed, starting to panic. He patted one blood covered cheek gently. "Dean, come on man. Come on. This isn't happening. I worked so hard to find you, you're not getting out of here this easy. Come on." He felt like he was choking on his own tongue. The blood was still trickling, and his hands were becoming slippery. He could feel tears welling up behind his eyes, and he fought to keep them there. Crying wasn't going to help his brother. His voice cracked into a whisper. "Come on, buddy. You're a fucking _demon_, for Christ's sake, and you're gonna let some angel blowing out the lights take you down?"

As he said the words, the moments before the explosion came rushing to the forefront of his mind. He remembered Dean, face contorted with pain, desperately trying to cover both his eyes and his ears. He wondered vaguely if it was because of the spell, because his brother was a demon, or because of the Mark. He shook his head to clear out the worry, he'd have time to figure that out after he stopped the flow of blood from Dean's face.

Sam shifted his weight back onto his heels, gently resting his brother's head in his lap. For the first time since he had woken, he realized that Cas was missing. He looked around, but in the dim light from the candle, he couldn't see much other than the fact that at some point, Claire had left him alone. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the nagging anxiety that not only had this spell incapacitated Dean, it had annihilated the angel it was meant to help.

He sat that way for a while, cradling his unconscious older brother, rocking back and forth ever so slightly, praying to Castiel. He didn't know if his prayers were even being heard, but it was something to do while his mind ran at breakneck speed through his options. The problem was that there weren't any, not really, not without Cas there to help him. _Can angels even heal demons_, he thought to himself.

A shuffling noise behind him brought him out of his head. He turned to see Claire, arms full of flashlights. She offered a small smile.

"I found these. I thought maybe I could set them up like lamps?"

Sam nodded minutely, eyes tracking back to Dean. He wasn't sure he wanted to see him in better light. But as Claire set them up one by one, and the room lightened a bit, he could see that the flow of blood was beginning to taper off, even beginning to dry in places further from the immediate source.

Claire fidgeted just behind him. "I'm going to take one of the lights with me, get the glass cleaned up."

Sam turned a questioning look her way.

"Yeah, the uh, lightbulbs? They're sort of everywhere," she gestured around towards the floor, and Sam noticed for the first time the bits of glass laying strewn about the room.

"Yeah, ok, that'd be great," he said, trying to sound calm and collected.

She nodded, smiled at him again, and headed off.

He knew that he should figure out how to move Dean somewhere that wasn't a glass-covered floor, but he wasn't sure if moving him was A) wise, he wasn't sure what exactly was wrong with him, and B) possible, his brother wasn't exactly petite.

Sam's head flew up as he heard the bunker door slam shut. "Claire?" he called.

The voice that answered him was definitely not Claire. "No. It's me."

"Cas," he exhaled on a sigh. "Where the fuck did you go?"

Cas glanced around the library, looking oddly at the flashlights set up on the tables as he replied, "Nepal. And then Peru." Sam stared at him. "Did you know they eat guinea pigs there?" Cas almost looked stricken.

"Peru…" Sam mumbled. "Cas what the hell?"

"It was not by choice, Sam, I assure you. My grace, it sort of…hmm…I believe the most appropriate terminology would be 'spazzed out'. Did I do this?" He gestured to the darkened lamps.

Before Sam could nod, the bulbs were replaced, and bright light filled the room. He squinted, unaccustomed to the intensity. When he managed to be able to open his eyes without his retinas burning, Cas was staring hard at Dean, still cradled in Sam's lap.

"And this. I did this, as well?"

"I don't think it was _you_, per se. I think it might have been the spell. When it magnified that small amount of grace into something more complete, I think it…I don't know, I think it somehow _attacked_ him."

Cas nodded tersely.

"Is there anything you can do?" Sam inquired.

Before the angel could answer, silence permeated the room as the rattling breaths Dean was drawing came to an abrupt halt.


	11. Chapter 11

**Supernatural: Endgame**

Chapter 11

There was chaos in Sam's head. For yet another time in his life, he was holding his dead brother, wildly thinking of ways to undo whatever had been done. He clutched Dean to his chest, and looked anxiously at Cas, who was still standing in the same place, completely still. Sam shook his head, unable to form the words to ask what to do. Cas was staring at Dean, head cocked on an angle, a slightly confused and mystified look on his face. Sam questioned him with a look, but Cas was slow to answer.

"Sam…" he began in a hushed tone, just above a whisper. "Sam, something has happened."

Sam looked up at him, mouth agape. He struggled to form the words but managed to choke out, "Clearly, Cas. I'm very aware."

"No. You don't understand. Something has _happened_."

Sam stared at him, obviously Cas had lost his mind on his trek through the Himalayas, the Andes, and whatever other mountain range he had seen on his Tour de Grace. He swallowed. "Then please, enlighten me."

"It's Dean. He's…"

"…dead?" Sam supplied, monotone and expressionless.

"Human."

Sam gazed at him, disbelief on his face, then turned to look at his brother. "No. No that's too easy."

Cas was confused by this. "Too easy? Sam, he's _dead_. I don't think I would call that 'easy'. But when I look at him now, I don't see anything other than _Dean_."

The Winchester looked up at him expectantly, gesturing towards his brother.

"Yes," Cas said with a nod, a small note of authority creeping into his voice. "Set him on the floor, carefully. You may want to stand back. I'm not sure if my grace is completely under control yet."

Sam raised his eyebrows at that, but seeing as how Dean wasn't going to get any deader, he didn't argue the safety point. He stood, and moved away until his back was pressed against the wall, then turned his eyes to the angel.

Castiel crouched down on the floor next to Dean, taking in his bloody face, and noted with a bit of surprise that he still felt the pull of emotion at his friend being hurt. He hadn't expected to retain much of the human tendencies he had picked up since his fall, but he was glad for it. Sure, dealing with feelings was sometimes aggravating and difficult, but he enjoyed the compassion and feeling of friendship that came with them.

He reached out and placed his palm on Dean's chest, closed his eyes, and breathed. He felt the heat pass through him and begin to warm the man on the floor, felt his friend's chest start the steady rise and fall of the living, and the angel exhaled, leaving his hand resting on his friend. He opened his eyes when he heard the clearing of a throat, and was met by two green eyes boring into his own in puzzlement.

"Uh, Cas? Buddy?" Dean said. "You gonna stop handling the merchandise?"

Cas pulled his hand back and stood up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Dean."

"Nah, man," Dean laughed, pushing himself to his feet. He shook his head slightly, a look of thoughtful curiosity on his face. "Damn, Cas. I don't know how you did it, but I feel…" He stopped just short of the word 'clean', not wanting to drudge up anything from the past few months that he might just be blocking out. He shook his head again, and Cas looked at him questioningly. "Nothing, man. Just know that I appreciate it. Really."

Cas smiled at him, turning to look at Sam, who was still standing against the wall.

"Dean. Are you…" Sam began.

Dean breathed a laugh. "Starving, Sammy? Hell yes."

Sam grimaced. "Could you maybe swallow before you talk? I mean honestly, Dean."

Dean did just that, grinning at his brother. "Happy? Anyway, _as I was saying_, I don't remember much. The last thing I got is Sammy dropping your grace into the bowl. Next thing I know, I'm laying on the floor getting touched by an angel."

Cas choked on his pizza.

"Y'alright there?" Dean asked, clapping him on the back.

Cas nodded, setting his food down and pushing the plate away. He didn't really need it anymore, and it didn't necessarily taste very good to him now, but it made him feel like one of the guys. Dean snagged the slice, eyebrows raised in Cas' direction. When he received an affirmative response, he finished it off, licking his fingers.

"What the hell even happened back there, Cas?" Dean asked.

"It must have been the grace. The spell took what little we had and amplified it into a much more substantial amount. I believe it purified everything close to it."

"So, what, it just sandblasted the demon part of me right out?" Dean asked, incredulous. "How am I not a burnt up piece of toast?"

"Perhaps purifying is gentler than smiting?" Cas offered.

"Can it purify out the guilt?" Dean murmured.

Cas gave only the smallest of signs that he had heard him, just a quick glance in his direction.

Dean stood up, wandering over to lean against the other table, slamming shut the door to a conversation he wasn't ready to have.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting the book he had been holding on his lap to the table in front of him. He opened it, turning pages as he explained what they had learned about the Lore Codex and what it could do, as well as what they had found about the location of the portal that would lead them to it.

"'Behind the wall of Baptism'," Cas repeated softly. He turned his gaze to Sam. "This means something to you?"

Sam hefted another book onto the table, this one an atlas. "Yeah. See, there's this state park in northeast Minnesota, right along Lake Superior? There's a river there. Baptism River. With a 60 foot high waterfall."

"Behind the wall of Baptism," Cas murmured again, nodding.

"Sam," Dean said nonchalantly, fighting a smirk.

"Yeah?"

"Even if I hadn't been distracted while doing research, how in the _hell_ did you expect that I would have known jack shit about some pissass waterfall in BFE Minnesota?" Dean replied, cuffing his brother on the back of the head. "And while we're on the subject, why did _you_ immediately figure this out? You got some secret waterfall fetish I don't know about?"

Sam made a face. "I don't even know what a waterfall fetish would be, but you don't remember Bobby going on and on about the fishing at Big Falls on Baptism River? We musta been, I don't know, 6 and 10? But it was all we heard about that entire summer."

"Not ringin' a bell, but I'll take your word for it," Dean shrugged. "But fat lotta good knowing where this portal thing is when we don't have the slightest clue how to open the damned thing."

Sam pulled the spell out of the back of the book where they had stashed it for safe keeping, setting it on the table in front of Cas. "Any of that make sense to you?"

Cas read it thoughtfully, nodding intermittently, before looking up at the guys. "This is strangely familiar," he said, pointing at the line in the spell that had thrown everyone else.

"'Blood of Father's Joy'?" Dean asked. "You know what that means?"

Cas chewed his lip. "No, but I know that I have seen it before. I just can't place it."

"Can you find out? Ask around?" Sam inquired.

"Of course." Cas stood to leave, then inclined his head towards Dean. "Are you OK with this taking priority over finding a way to remove the Mark?"

"Yeah, man. I'm good for now. World needs savin', Dean Winchester's problems can wait. Same shit, different day, right?"

Cas had been gone about five minutes before Sam quietly spoke up from the book he was reading. "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"I ain't ready for a heart to heart, if that's what you're askin'."

Sam simply looked back at him, silent.

Dean sighed, shutting the book he'd been flipping through. "I did some shit, ok? And it's shit that I'm gonna have to live with, and I'm gonna have to get over, and I _will_, on my own time, in my own way."

"You were a demon, Dean, it's not like you…"

"I was a demon for the past week, too, and I managed not to pillage the bunker, didn't I?"

Sam looked back down at his book.

"Look Sammy, all I'm sayin' is that for right now, I'm OK. Will I be OK tomorrow? Next week? Fuck if I know. But for right now, I am. And for right now I just want to figure out how to finish this spell. Alright?"

"Alright," Sam agreed, resigning himself to forcing this conversation some other time as Claire wandered in, carrying Sam's laptop.

"So this video's making the rounds on the internet," she said. "I thought maybe you'd be interested?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah."

"Not _that_ kind of video, you old, creepy perv," she retorted with a grimace. She turned the laptop towards them, pressed play, and watched their mouths drop open.

"Is that…" Dean stuttered.

"No way," Sam said at the same time.

"Yup," Claire replied smugly. "That would be one Oprah Winfrey, and she's rocking some pretty stellar demon-black eyes."


	12. Chapter 12

**Supernatural: Endgame**

Chapter 12

"There are literally _dozens_ of videos on this guys YouTube channel," Sam declared in awe. "And not just Oprah. I mean, look. Lady Gaga, Tina Fey, Adam Levine, Joe Biden…"

"That explains a lot," Dean joked.

"I'm serious, Dean," Sam bitchfaced. "And it seems like there's a pretty good mix of demons and shifters, here."

"Why the hell are these tools taking over celebrities?" Dean muttered.

"I hear the Oscar's Swag Bags are pretty awesome," Claire offered. Dean high-fived her.

Sam glared at them before going back to the videos.

"It makes sense, you know," Claire said.

Dean and Sam turned to look at her.

"I just mean…what better way to get people on your side? Built in fan-base, right?"

Sam nodded with a sigh. "And they're just piling up the meatsuits. Basically an unlimited supply."

"Ooooooh," Dean exhaled, making a face. "Crap."

"Crap?" Sam questioned. "What crap? What do you know?"

"I _may_ have forgotten to mention something."

Sam closed his eyes and slowly counted to three while he waited for Dean to continue.

"Crowley wants the Codex, I already told you that, but in all the excitement going on with Cas' grace and getting the demon knocked out of me, it just sort of slipped my mind. He mentioned a couple times about recruiting an army. He just never told me _how_."

"Looks like we just found out," Sam stated.

Two hours later, the three of them had worked through all of the videos and managed to compile a list of which monster was which.

"Ok Claire, give me a rundown on Shapeshifters," Sam said.

"Shifters, check. Let's see, I've got Lady Gaga, Robert Downey, Jr, Taylor Swift, Jennifer Aniston, Adam Levine, James Franco, Hillary Swank, Wayne Gretzky, Justin Timberlake, and Benedict Cumberbatch."

"What the hell is a Benedict…whatever the hell you just said?" Dean scoffed.

Sam ignored him. "And Dean, who do we have on the Demon side?"

"Ummm, alright that's Oprah, Tom Hiddleston, Lebron James, Tina Fey, Scarlett Johansson, Jimmy Fallon, Tori Spelling, Joe Biden, Miranda Lambert, and Jennifer Lawrence."

"At least they don't have Beyoncé," Sam said with a sigh.

Dean looked down at his list. "Oh, and Beyoncé."

Sam stared at him, and he just shrugged.

"Claire, why don't you see if you can't dig up any more videos. There's bound to be more of them out there, and the better we know what we're up against, the faster we can figure out what to do about it," Sam instructed. Claire nodded, snagged the laptop and headed to her room. He put his elbows on the table, and let his face fall into his hands.

"We have to find this Codex," he mumbled into his palms, "or we are so fucked."

The next morning when Sam wandered into the library with coffee, ready to start the search for anything related to their wayward spell ingredient, he found Claire already deep in research mode, searching for more names to add to their list.

"Find anything?" Sam yawned.

"Only two. Katie Couric and Dr. Phil. Both shifters."

Sam shook his head. "These seem like odd choices to you?"

Claire considered this for a moment, then answered, "Not really, I guess. It gives them a pretty decent cross section. All ages, all access, you know?"

Sam agreed. "That does make sense."

"Oh, also, I got kinda bored when results ran low, so I took it upon myself to dig a little bit on the dude that runs this channel."

Sam pulled a chair up next to her. "And what did you find?"

"Well, turns out the dude is actually a chick. Coraline Helton. She lives in North Dakota. Couldn't really find much else. At least nothing that would tell us what she's doing compiling videos of celebrities with wonky eyes."

"Good work, kid. You're not too bad at this," he said with a smile. "Looks like I know what Dean and I are up to today." He stood and stretched, then headed towards the hall to go wake his brother.

"Don't you mean what Dean and you and _I_ are up to today?" the teen offered hopefully.

Sam shot her a look. "Nope. Said what I meant. You can stay here, keep plugging away. Trust me, Claire, the more we know, the more…"

"I know, I know. The more prepared we'll be," she grumbled, turning back to the computer.

The boys arrived in Bismarck, North Dakota the next morning, after driving through the night. They parked the Impala on the street outside the house at the address Claire had found for them by hacking into the corporate website of the clothing store where Coraline worked. A white cat sat in the window next to the door, watching them intently with one green eye, one blue. The pink heart tag on her collar declared her as "Emma".

"Well hi there, Emma," Dean remarked, waggling his fingers at her. She responded by laying her ears flat and hissing for all she was worth. Dean blinked and looked at Sam, who looked back at him like he was a moron. Dean shrugged, straightened his tie, and knocked on the door.

The door flew open, revealing a girl in Hello Kitty pajamas with dark unruly hair and glasses. She looked back and forth between the two of them for a quick second, muttered "Shit" under her breath, and slammed the door in their faces.

The boys exchanged a look before Sam knocked again. "Coraline, we just want to talk to you. We promise you're not in any trouble."

"Ha! Feds show up at my door and I'm _not in trouble_?" came the muffled reply.

"We want to talk to you about the videos you posted," Sam said.

There was silence for a moment, then the door cracked open to reveal one eye. "What videos?"

Sam pulled up the video of Oprah on his phone, and turned it towards her. She heaved a sigh and opened the door the rest of the way. "Fine. We can talk. But not here. I'll meet you in town. There's a restaurant nearby, just off the highway."

"We passed it on the way here. We'll meet you in 15?"

Coraline nodded, closed the door and headed off to get dressed.

"I don't know what to tell you," Coraline said again, wrapping her hands around the mug of hot chocolate in front of her. "I noticed the weird thing with their eyes, and I thought 'well that's weird', so I looked around to see if I could find more, and I did. I posted them for other people to look at. End of story."

"Coraline…" Sam started.

"Cora, please. My mom got a little carried away on birthing drugs or something. She's the only one that calls me Coraline, and I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"Cora," Sam began again. "I think you _do_ know something about these videos, and what _exactly_ is going on in them. The fact that you won't look either of us in the eye is pretty telling."

She rolled her eyes. "Social anxiety. It exists. Google it. I told you what I know, can I go now? I don't need the entire town to see me talking to the Feds." She stood up to leave.

Dean shot a look at Sam, who gave a small nod. "We're not Feds."

Cora gave him a wary side-eyed glance, and braced her hands on the table, very much resembling a rabbit set to bolt.

"My name's Dean, this is my brother Sam. We're hunters."

Before the last word had left his mouth, the rabbit bolted.

"Shit," Sam muttered, throwing a $20 down on the table and taking off after her.

They caught up to her at her car, where she was standing fumbling with her keys, swearing under her breath. She turned to look at them as they closed in on her, and it was clear that she was trying not to cry.

Sam held up his hands in a peaceful gesture, "I don't know what's going on, but we just want to know about the videos, Cora. That's all. You're not in any trouble."

"Yeah, about that," she said quietly, biting her thumbnail. "I'm thinking your Cora-flavored internet search failed to return a pretty important fact."

"What's that?" Dean demanded.

Cora took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, "I'm a witch."


	13. Chapter 13

**Supernatural: Endgame**

Chapter 13

It had taken Sam ten minutes to talk Dean into putting his gun away, and five rounds of Rock Paper Scissors before Dean had accepted defeat, climbing behind the wheel of Cora's little blue car to follow the girl and Sam back to her house. It was a short seven minute ride, but when he unfolded himself from the driver's seat, his knees were popping and complaining. He rubbed at them absently while they sat on the living room couch, questioning Cora.

"You don't exactly fit the description on most witches we've come across," Sam said gently.

Cora looked down at her bright teal skinny jeans, sweater with the fuzzy panda, and mismatched socks, then back up at Sam, the fear replaced with general annoyance. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, then returned his attention to the matter at hand.

"I'm just saying, you seem like a nice, normal girl…"

"Nice, normal girls can hex the shit out of people, too, Sammy," Dean chimed in.

Sam shot him a look that clearly said "not helping".

"I'm not 'hexing the shit' out of _anyone_, Captain Know-it-All," Cora snapped, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him. "Way to stereotype. I don't hurt anyone. _Ever_. Did it never occur to you that maybe not all witches are into the gross, slimy part of practicing?"

"So, if you're not hexing anyone, or hurting people, or any of that, what _are_ you doing?" Sam asked.

"Little things. Simple spells."

Dean huffed at that and stood, but Cora continued.

"Things like…making my hair not look like I drove to work with my head out the window. Getting rid of a zit. My damned eyeliner."

"Eyeliner," Dean repeated, rolling his eyes and turning away.

"Hey dickwad, _you_ try getting those little wings perfect every time."

"Ok, ok," Sam interrupted. "So…good witch? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes. That is what I'm saying," Cora answered. "So can we please make a deal that Bozo over there won't shoot me?"

Dean raised his hands in mock surrender, and Cora finally relaxed completely.

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment, and then asked "How did you end up involved in witchcraft in the first place?"

Cora looked pained as she sat cross-legged on the floor to pet Emma. "This old friend of mine. Jenna. She got in with this…coven, I guess? And she started hanging out with them more and more, and me less and less. When she offered to bring me along one time, I thought what's the harm? I didn't want to lose my friend." She looked out the window, sadness flashing across her face. "At first, everything was great. Little things, like I said before. Getting a stain out of a favorite dress. Changing the price tag on a really expensive jacket. But then…"

Sam leaned forward slightly, and quietly said, "Go on. It's ok."

She swallowed hard before continuing. "I swear I didn't know. I had no idea what they were doing. And if I _had_ known, I'd have left and never gone back. That poor boy…" She started to cry. "This kid, Timmy or something. He worked at the coffee shop with Jenna, and he really liked her. He asked her out a few times, and she kept saying no. He wasn't, like, creepy about it. He'd just ask if she wanted to get a drink, or if she wanted to hang out after work. But she always said no. Which, I can't really blame her, the guy was kind of a weirdo. But he didn't deserve… I don't even know how they did it. I just know that one day, Timmy was a perfectly nice, 25 year old weirdo, and the next, he was like, 97 years old and dead from 'natural causes'. But it was them. It was the coven. The night before Timmy's mom found him, they did this…_we_ did this spell with his nametag from work. I didn't know what it was for, I just repeated the chants like I was supposed to. And we killed him. I killed him."

"So you gave up the dark stuff?" Sam asked.

Cora nodded, sniffling, then stood up to go wash her face. Sam turned to his brother.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"If you're thinking let's stay in town and waste this coven, I am _so_ on board," Dean said.

"Not quite. I'm thinking it might be kind of helpful to have a non-sociopath witch on our side."

"You've gotta be kidding."

"Think about it, Dean. We're up to our ears in spells, and who knows how many more we're going to have to go through to get to this Codex. And we could use some help to hide what we're doing from Crowley until we know exactly where we stand on finding the damned thing."

Dean sighed. "You trust her? That much? You wanna bring her into the bunker? With all the supernatural items a witch could hope for?"

"Do you honestly want to tell me that you think that girl would hurt someone? Did you listen to her story? She could hardly get through it. I really think we could use her, man."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, and gave in. "Fine. But the second that bitch does something shifty, I'm shooting first and asking questions…never."

They both turned at the sound of a laugh to find Cora staring at them from the hallway.

"You two must be high if you think I'm going _anywhere_ with you. I've known you for, what, like a half an hour? And dreamboat over here has threatened to shoot me not once, but _twice_ now."

Sam reached out to her, and she stepped back against the wall.

"No. No way, José," she said, shaking her head.

"Cora, please. If you heard what Dean said, then you probably heard what I said before that," Sam implored. "We could use your help. Please."

She chewed her lip. "Are you giving me a choice?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

The drive back to the bunker was a combination of painful and comical. Cora had refused to leave Emma, and after another brief argument about going with them, Sam had finally gotten Dean to cave and allow her to bring the small white cat. Twenty minutes into the 9 hour trip, Dean had given up trying to drive with one hand constantly rubbing his red, itching eyes with the other on the wheel, and handed over driving duties to Sam.

"Stupid cat," he muttered from the backseat as Sam pulled back onto the road. The comment was followed by a sneeze. And then another. And another.

"The first pharmacy I see, I promise I'll stop and we can get you some Benadryl," Sam laughed.

"Or we could just throw that cat out the window," came the mumbled reply.

"Pipe down, loser, or I'll throw her in the back with you," Cora sing-songed.

Dean grumbled and groused, squirming around in an attempt to get comfortable. He finally rested his head against the window, scratching absently at the Mark on his arm, letting the sound of Baby's tires on the pavement lull him to sleep. It was going to be a long ride.


End file.
